Kisses and Cocoa
by The Scarlet Sky
Summary: A collection of now-out-of-season holiday oneshots based on the canon couples of FOMT. Contains fluff. Ch 1: Doctor x Elli. Ch 2: Gray x Mary. Ch 3: Cliff x Ann. Ch 4: Rick x Karen. Ch. 5: Kai x Popuri. Complete.
1. Chapter 1: Gingerbread

**Note: **Happy holidays, all! I'm writing some fluff-filled holiday oneshots featuring the canon couples of FoMT. So grab your cocoa and prepare for an onslaught of cutesy fluff.

First up is Doctor x Elli. Merry Christmas, **Rhianwen**.

Disclaimer: Oh, and in case you forgot, I don't own it. I swear on a Christmas wreath and a handful of jingle bells that I don't.

Gingerbread

"Stu, I told you, _not yet_."

The boy whined, his eyes fixed on a plate of freshly baked gingerbread cookies. They'd been temptingly placed on a thin metal tray, sitting just within the boy's limited reach. The tantalizing smell of the goods caused his hand to inch further and further towards the cookies before being halted again by the loud cry of, "_Stu_!"

"But I can't wait," he moaned. "Grandma would let me have some if I'd asked her."

"Grandma would not, and you know it," his sister chided him, hands on her hips. "We're waiting until they've cooled. You might burn your tongue!"

"I would not!" Stu insisted, his little hands turning into fists. "Please, Elli!"

But even the adorable little pout drawn onto his face couldn't convince the brunette to change her mind. Placing the tray of forbidden treats on a high shelf, she said, "Why don't you have something healthy while you wait? Like an apple, or maybe some celery—"

"But I want cookies!" Stu wailed. "Elli, you're being so _mean_."

Before the nurse could respond to her brother's complaints, a light tapping on the door sounded. Both thankful for some interruption in this sibling conflict and curious as to who would show up so early in the afternoon, Elli made her way to the door and opened it.

"Hello—" Her greeting broke off as she recognized the figure in the doorway. Dressed in a sophisticated white coat complete with a warm red scarf, the doctor smiled at the flour-covered nurse. "D-doctor?"

"I hope I'm not intruding," he began, seeing Stu attempt to climb onto the counter, the boy's fingers groping for the plate high above.

"Oh, no, not at all," Elli assured him, opening the door wide. "Please, come in."

He did so, his boots tracking snow onto the rug. Stu had done the same thing last week and been sorely lectured for it, but now the nurse hardly seemed to notice this small transgression. She was about to pull out a chair for the doctor, but seeing her brother's antics, exclaimed, "Stu, get down from there this instant!"

His plans foiled, Stu was hoisted off the counter and brought down onto the floor with an assortment of "How could you!"s and "That's dangerous, Stu!"s. The doctor watched on in amusement, trying to muffle his laughter with his scarf. Something about Elli's frantic manner and flushed cheeks made him smile to no end, and he wasn't sure how the nurse would react to his chuckling.

"I never have any fun…" Stu complained, dragging his feet along as he left for the stairs.

"If children don't have any fun, then there's no hope for the rest of us," the doctor smiled, this time comfortable with laughing aloud.

With a little groan, a very stressed Elli ran her fingers through her short hair, and said, "I'm sorry, Doctor…he can be a handful sometimes, and—why are you here, anyway?"

"You didn't know?" The surprise in his voice was eminent as he continued, "Your grandmother invited me to spend the holidays with her family."

For a sweet little old lady, Ellen could be just as troublesome as Stu sometimes.

"O-oh…she forgot to tell me," Elli explained, panicking again. The house was a wreck, her clothes were thoroughly dirtied from cookie-baking, and she hadn't planned for this at all.

"Something wrong?"

She shook her head and took the seat across from him. "It's just…unexpected, is all."

"If I'm intruding, I'll leave—"

"You're not intruding," Elli insisted. "I'm happy you're here, really. I just wish I'd been told sooner."

"I see," he nodded. "And…what would you have done if you had been told in advance?"

She wiped her hands on her apron, sending flour onto the floor. "Well, for one thing, I'd have changed out of this messy apron into something more suitable," she smiled.

"Really? I think it's cute."

His casual comment caused the flustered nurse's face to turn red. In an attempt to alleviate her awkwardness, she murmured, "I, uh…thank you. Your scarf is n-nice, too. Handsome, I mean."

"Do you think so?" His hands went to it instinctively, and fingering the soft material, laughed. "It's funny you should say that."

"Why?"

"You made it for me last Christmas."

If Elli had been embarrassed before, she was positively mortified now. "I did? Oh, I did! You still…have it?"

"Of course," he answered. "You made it for me all by yourself; I wouldn't dream of losing it."

She bit her lip, averting her eyes away from the handsome man sitting across from her. He waited patiently as she wrung her hands, wrestling with what to say. When she didn't say anything, he asked, "Did I say something wrong?"

"Of course not, Doctor--!"

"Tim."

She blinked at him in confusion, and he replied, "Tim. You can call me that, you know… We're not at work now."

The brunette nodded, murmuring, "No, we're not." And yet, there was something infinitely more intimidating about seeing her boss in her own home. Wearing her scarf, sitting in at her table, taking off his ratty old gloves—

"Doctor?"

He gave her a reproachful stare, and blushing, she corrected herself, "Tim. Those gloves—how long have you had them?"

The man shrugged, peeling them off his hands and stuffing them into his coat pocket. "A few years, I suspect. They've been well worn."

"There's no way those shabby gloves can keep your hands warm," Elli chided him, her voice taking on a tone she usually reserved for lecturing Stu.

"Elli, it's fine—"

"Give me your hands," she ordered him, and with a sigh, the doctor complied. He said nothing as her sticky icing-smeared fingers wrapped around his own. Elli shivered as cold tremors made their way from his hands to hers, warmth spreading from her hands into his chilled ones. "They're like ice," she exclaimed, holding them tighter.

"I manage," he assured her, beginning to let go but unable to in her strong grip.

"Doc—Tim, you can't abuse your hands like this," Elli admonished him. "As your nurse, I can't allow it."

He chuckled, and she insisted, "I'm serious, Tim! This won't do at all…"

"Well then, Dr. Elli, what would you prescribe?" he teased her gently.

Elli thought for a moment, her brow furrowing in concentration. Then, biting her lip, she asked, "What do you think about…getting a late holiday gift?"

He stared at her, and she continued, "I could always…make you some mittens to match your scarf. And that way, your hands wouldn't be so cold. Would you mind, Tim?"

"Not at all," he smiled. "I'd rather like it, actually."

Elli started to pull back her hands, when to her surprise the doctor wouldn't let go. Sighing, he slowly let his fingers untangle themselves from her own. As much as he'd love to wear her handmade mittens, somehow he loved holding her hands even more.

"…Elli?"

She turned to him, and standing up, he admitted, "I haven't given you a gift yet."

"Oh, that's fine," Elli assured him. "I don't really need anything, it's no trouble—"

But her protests were silenced by a pair of lips brushing against her own as the doctor held her close. Though simple, innocent, and fleeting, the kiss was enough to turn both their faces a faint shade of pink. Leaning over, the doctor whispered in her ear, "Merry Christmas, Elli."

The moment was shattered when the loud crash of a tray clattering against the floor reached their ears. Bits and pieces of gingerbread flew everywhere as a triumphant Stu knocked the goodies down with a broom, some cocoa mugs and an empty cookie jar crashing down in the process.

Elli stared at the mess for a moment—a big, disastrous, icing-filled mess that would take at least an hour or two to clean. Not to mention all the baking she'd have to do again. And the shopping for the ingredients for the baking. And the lecture she'd have to give Stu about eating food off the floor.

But as she embraced the doctor one more time, Elli realized that at the moment, she really could care less.


	2. Chapter 2: Until It Snows

**Note: **Written on a cruise ship on a very wobbly laptop, so please forgive me if it's not very good. My laptop has a nasty habit of clicking on it's own while I'm in the middle of typing, putting the letters in all the wrong places so I have to go back, fix it, and try to remember my string of thought. Most difficult.

Gray x Mary. You asked, and you shall receive, **Moonlit Dreaming**. Grary shipping ahoy!

Until It Snows

"Winter isn't really winter until it snows," Mary decided, gazing outside. The moisture on the windows had hardened into a crystalline sheet of ice, making it almost impossible to see the snowy landscape behind the glass. But Mary didn't need to see it to know that it was there, that Jack Frost had graced Mineral Town once again with his presence.

"I hate snow," Gray complained, leaning on Mary's counter. "It's too damn cold, and it piles up in front of the door, and it makes your clothes wet once you walk inside and the snow melts. How can anyone stand it?"

Mary smiled and brought her cup of cocoa over to the shivering blacksmith. Placing it into his hands, she sighed. "Oh, Gray, it's not just a nuisance. It's beautiful—nature's way of redecorating the world. And it's fun."

"Fun?" Gray repeated, taking a swig of cocoa. "What's fun about shoveling snow until your fingers are red and numb?"

"I don't mean _that_," Mary explained, rolling her eyes. "I mean…snow angels, and sledding, and ice skating. That kind of fun."

"It's really no big deal," Gray groaned. "Why don't you just make a sandcastle in summer or something? It's not cold in summer."

"But you hate the summer heat."

"It's not my fault the damn weather won't make up its mind."

A grin played at the corners of her mouth as she pulled on her coat and scarf. Wrapping her arms tightly about her, Mary waited at the door for the blacksmith to finish his cocoa and join her.

"Where are we going again?" he asked.

"Elli's. She made gingerbread cookies with Stu, and she wanted to give us some," Mary told him.

"Then why doesn't she come give it to us so we don't have to go out in the cold?" Gray grumbled.

"Because she doesn't want to go out in the cold, either," Mary answered. "Now, goodness, Gray: stop whining. You're going to pick up the cookies with me whether you like it or not."

And although Gray could argue, he knew that in the end Mary would get her way. Try as he might, the blacksmith just couldn't say no to her.

Maybe it was because of her glasses, he reasoned. That had to be it.

The librarian beside him sighed, her breath becoming visible puffs of air in the chill of the day. She cocked her head at Gray and smiled as she saw his uncomfortable expression. His hands were shoved into his pockets, and his eyes were squinted against the oncoming snowflakes.

"You forgot your scarf," Mary stated, watching his teeth chatter.

"Yeah, I guess I did," he replied, plodding forward.

"Do you want to go back for it--?"

"It's fine, Mary."

"You're going to catch cold."

"So what if I am?" he groaned, stopping and turning towards her. "Mary, it's fine. I'll be okay."

The librarian's worried expression relaxed, and she allowed herself a tiny grin. "I know you will. I just worry, that's all."

Gray stared at her, and, knowing that he was blushing, pulled his hat down. Of course she worried about him. In fact, Mary was the _only_ person who worried about him; Saibara was never one to dole out pity, and Cliff and Kai were too busy to worry about their roommate. It had been awkward at first, but over time, Gray had gotten used to the "nagging," as Kai had called it. "It happens to the best of them," the traveler had sighed, shaking his head. "They're all eventually reduced to nagging, bossy women who remind you that your shoes are untied over and over until you finally bend down and tie them. It's a shame, really."

But if Mary didn't remind him, Gray knew that he'd trip over his own feet.

"Gray?"

The blacksmith turned to her, and Mary smiled. "Look. We've left a trail of footprints in the snow."

And as Gray looked, he saw two sets of footprints: one large and deep, the other small and delicate. "Huh. I guess we did."

"Isn't it strange? That one day, a path can be littered with weeds and blossoms, and the next, patterned with footprints surrounded by snow." She took in a deep breath, releasing it in a little puff of air. "Nature's ever-changing design. It's beautiful."

"Yes, you are."

The words had escaped into the air before the blacksmith could turn them into intangible thoughts, hidden from the world and from the wide-eyed girl in front of him. She stared at him, unable to make her legs move and her mouth speak. Finally, after much effort, she squeaked, "What?"

"…Nothing," he murmured, brushing past her. "Let's go to Elli's, Mary. At this rate, we'll both freeze to death."

Seeing as she was still rooted to the ground in shock, Gray groaned and jerked her by the arm, dragging her forward. "Damn it, Mary, do you want to see Elli or not? The only way to see her is to keep walking, you know."

"Y-yes," she stammered, stumbling along as he pulled her forward.

Snowflakes fell in a steady curtain of white lace, delicately falling onto the two figures below and sliding off their coats onto the ground. Mary and Gray stopped upon reaching the door to Ellen's home, where Stu was building a snowman in the front yard. His eyes glanced upward to see the two visitors, and he said matter-of-factly, "Elli's busy."

"But she invited us—"

"Doctor's here," Stu explained, interrupting Mary as he packed on another heap of snow. Mary and Gray exchanged glances, and Gray muttered something about how when a man and a woman worked together, it was always bound to end up like this. The librarian smiled, and bending down asked Stu how long he'd been outside.

"Since I ate all the cookies," he told them.

"They're…all gone?" Mary questioned, surprised. Letting him eat all the cookies? That didn't sound like Elli.

The boy nodded. "I ate them an hour ago. But Elli was getting all lovey-dovey with her Timmy-wimmy, and so I had to leave. Because of the cooties, I mean."

"Don't worry," Mary laughed. "I'm sure Gray would have left after seeing that, too."

"Her Timmy-_what_?" Gray exclaimed, shocked. "Who the hell comes up with names like that?"

Mary giggled, Stu shrugged, and the snow continued to fall. Adjusting his hat, Gray turned away from the door, and muttered, "Well, now what?"

"Wanna help me make a snowman?" Stu asked, eyes shining.

"Hell no."

Gray's automatic response made the boy's lip begin to quiver, and as his eyes welled up with tears, Stu wailed, "Gray's a meeeeeaaaanie!"

Mary shot the blacksmith a disapproving look and knelt down by the boy, putting her arm around him comfortingly. "I'd love to help make a snowman with you, Stu."

Immediately the tears vanished, and Stu threw his arms around the librarian in an enthusiastic hug. "Mary's nice," he smiled, burying his head in her scarf. Gray's hands balled into fists and he watched on helplessly as Mary hugged the kid back. What the _hell_? Was he getting jealous over some snot-nosed _brat_? No way, he assured himself, no way in hell would that happen. And yet--

"I'll help." Mary's ice blue eyes glanced up as Gray announced his decision. Coming forward with hands stuffed into his pockets, he glared from under his hat at them both and said, "I'll help, okay? But that doesn't mean I'm going to like it."

"That's great," Mary beamed, and Gray basked in the glow of her smile. "It'll be fun, Gray."

"Gray's still a meanie," Stu muttered, sticking his tongue out at the blacksmith.

"Shut up, punk."

Gray turned to Mary, and seeing her packing the snow into a ball, he did the same. Adding it to Stu's half-made foundation, they patted it together until a solid body was established. As Elli's brother rolled what would soon be the snowman's head into something resembling a circle, he asked, "What should we name it?"

"Name what?" Gray questioned.

"The snowman," Stu explained, rolling his eyes at Gray's stupid remark. "He needs a name."

"What about…Frosty?" Mary suggested, taking the head from Stu and positioning it on the body. "That's the classic name."

Shaking his head, Stu looked at Gray expectantly for ideas. "Hell, I don't know," Gray shrugged. "Come up with one yourself."

Stu tapped his foot in thought as Gray and Mary smoothed out the snowman's edges. Gray blushed a bit when his hand accidentally brushed over Mary's own, but she didn't appear to notice his touch as she continued prettying up the snowman for Stu.

"You do realize that this thing won't last a week," Gray muttered to her.

Laughing, Mary wiped her forehead and replied, "Gray, nothing lasts forever. Elli's cookies certainly didn't, and this snowman won't, and neither will this winter."

"But this is a waste of time."

"Is it?" Her eyes catching the sight of a few stones below, she bent down and picked them up: perfect for sculpting the eyes and mouth. "Well, Gray, don't you remember your first snowman?"

"My first snowman?" he repeated.

"Don't you remember how wonderful it feels, when you finally build one for the first time? How proud you are when you find something that couldn't stand if it weren't for your own two hands? How incredible that feels?"

"I don't know," Gray shrugged. "I guess I never really thought about it that way."

"Oh, really?" Her braid whipped behind her, her back turned as she gave the snowman two beady stone eyes. Gray watched as she stood on tiptoe to make the grin just right, and smiled to himself as he noticed that the eyes weren't aligned. "Well, sometimes it's a good idea just to do something for memory's sake. To have something pleasant to remember on a rainy day, something to fall back on when you're sad or alone."

Alone. What did he think of when he felt that way—alone? Gray closed his eyes, memories flooding his mind as they were sorted into good and bad, wrong and right. No, there was no memory of building a snowman; in truth, he couldn't remember playing in the snow at all as a child. No snowman's plastered-on grin could convince him to smile back; he merely sat down on the steps, watching the snow fall. No matter where his family moved each year, it was always the same cold, freezing, harsh snow that piled up on the driveway and required him to shovel it out day after day.

"Uma."

Gray blinked, startled out of his reverie, and Mary exclaimed, "What?"

"Uma," Stu repeated, coming forward and pointing a finger at the snowman. "I want to name it Uma."

Both Mary's and Gray's thoughts were on the hat sitting atop Gray's head as Stu continued, "I made it up all by myself. I like it."

"You little liar--!"

Mary restrained an indignant Gray as he lunged forward at the little boy, and she said, "It's a lovely name, Stu. Very creative."

The blacksmith turned to her and exclaimed, "You're going to let the kid lie through his teeth like that? 'I made it up all by myself'? Like hell he did! He read my hat and couldn't come up with anything better to say!"

"Gray," Mary chided him, "are you honestly going to argue with a five-year-old about this?"

At that remark, Gray shut up, and Stu appraised "Uma" attentively. "He needs something more," the boy decided.

In response, Mary unwrapped her scarf from around her neck and placed it around the snowman's. They both cocked their heads at it, and Mary agreed, "He does seem to be missing something, doesn't he?"

Gray soon found himself being stared at by both Mary and Stu, a mischievous glint sparkling in both their eyes. He backed away hesitantly, and as reality dawned on him, he shouted, "Oh, no. You can't have the damn hat!"

Little pouts made their way onto both Mary and Stu's faces, and the former's made Gray's resolve start to crumble. Clutching the hat in his hands, he began to run, only to be followed by a very determined Mary. "Gray, it's just for a moment!" she pleaded, hitching up her skirt.

"I'm not giving Stu's snowman the hat, dammit!"

"Get him, Mary, get him!" Stu cheered, earning a dirty look from the blacksmith.

Gray knew he had an unfair advantage over the librarian, and he intended to make full use of it. He was taller than Mary, faster than Mary, and--most importantly--he wasn't wearing a dress like Mary. She fumbled behind him, calling, "Gray, this is silly! It's just a hat!"

"It's _my_ hat, dammit!" was his response. There were some bushes ahead—if he jumped them, Mary would have to stop and climb over them herself, which was no easy feat in her gown. He increased his speed, eyes locking on the target ahead. He was ready for the jump, just in a few moments—

"Oomph!"

Mary came crashing into him from behind, sending them both tumbling forward into the thicket. Luckily, a thick layer of snow served as a buffer to keep them both from the sharp twigs' harm, and Gray found himself on the ground with Mary on his back.

"Sorry," she apologized hurriedly, climbing off him and kneeling by his side. "I—I'm so sorry, Gray, I tripped, and then—are you alright?"

In answer, Gray spat out a mouthful of what used to be snow and pulled himself up. Wiping the snowflakes and dirt from his hair, he turned to Mary, and glared. "You took the hat."

"I did?" she questioned, and looking down, she saw she was now kneeling on the cap. Picking it up, she held it close, and said, "I'm just going to use it once, Gray—to give a sweet little child a memory he'll always cherish."

"Sweet little child? Mary, this is _Stu_ we're talking about, not Little Miss Muffet," he protested. Then, as he took a good look at Mary, his voice softened. "Your glasses…"

She blinked her eyes, and bringing her hands to her face, she exclaimed, "Oh, I've dropped them! I thought everything was foggy because they'd gotten dirty in the snow…oh, dear, do you see them anywhere?"

Gray's hands tore through the snow, sending it behind him in huge white clusters as he sought in vain for the glasses. Dear God, had _he_ lost her glasses with his stupid game of tag? No, that was stupid—this was all Stu's fault, with his stupid snowman and his stupid whining and his stupid—

"Found them," Gray announced, and Mary sighed in relief. He breathed on the lenses, then rubbed them on his coat, leaving them clear and clean. The librarian's hand extended for them, but Gray held them back, an idea forming in his mind.

"Hostage exchange," he declared, pointing to the hat. "You give me what I want, and I give you what you want."

"Gray, you're acting like a child—"

"And you weren't? Chasing me down because I wouldn't give Stu my freaking hat?" He smiled as she relented, her grip on the hat faltering.

"Oh, alright. Have it your way." She came forward, then, skeptical, held the hat back again. "How do I know you won't just take the hat and run?"

"What the hell would I do with your glasses, Mary?" he replied, dangling them in his grip. "If you want, we'll exchange on the count of three. Alright?"

Biting her lip, Mary nodded, scooting closer to him.

"One."

Gray's hands quivered as he held the glasses up.

"Two."

Mary lifted the hat tentatively, her eyes searching Gray's questioningly as he began to smile.

"Three."

The glasses were pressed onto her nose, but before she could give him his cap, to her astonishment she found Gray's lips pressed against her own, a cold shock running through both their mouths. His arms wrapped about her neck, his skin pressing against goosebumps that had appeared where her scarf was absent. Seconds passed—minutes—before they pulled away, their blue eyes avoiding each other's gaze desperately.

"I…your hat…" Mary stammered, looking down. "You didn't…"

"Don't worry," Gray assured her, taking her hand. "I got what I wanted. You can keep the damn hat."

Mustering courage, she brought her eyes up to stare straight through his own, her voice quivering as she murmured, "But it wasn't a fair exchange."

"Of course it was, Mary—"

She shook her head, and whispered, "But I…I wanted that, too. It wasn't fair, because I got what I wanted…twice."

Around them, a flurry of white was falling from the heavens, coating the bushes and the roofs and the path, filling a trail of footprints one snowflake at a time. Somewhere, a snowman was lamenting his lack of a hat, and somewhere, a forgotten cup of cocoa was cooling in a library, and somewhere, a little boy was wondering if he'd been forgotten.

But all Gray knew was that right now, Mary's lips were on his own, and that was enough for all the cold and worries about him to melt away into an overwhelming warmth.

And maybe, Gray relented, winter wasn't that bad after all…if the right person was in your arms.


	3. Chapter 3: Mistletoe

**Note: **Whoops. I'm late, and these are now out-of-season! Go me. Once I've finished all this fluff, though, I'm sure I'll be ready for some hardcore angst. Heh. I have…writing balance issues. XD

This one is Cliff x Ann, folks. Hope you enjoy my silly take on it, **Kuroze**.

Mistletoe

Ann knew the Inn better than she knew herself, and after spending all night tidying the place up, she could swear she wasn't the one who had put it up there.

That. Up there. That….that _thing_ dangling over her head.

First of all, what person in the right mind would stick mistletoe above their own bedroom door, knowing fully well that they would open it the next morning in a drowsy, half-awake state? Second of all, why would Ann care about kissing anyone?

Though right now, she was considering the option.

It had been early morning—practically dawn—when a knocking on the door caused Ann to roll out of her bed and open the door groggily. Greeted by a distraught Cliff, the red-head groaned, "What is it?"

"I—I was sent here by your father," Cliff explained, clearing his throat. "He wanted me to tell you that he was taking a walk, and that he'd be back by noon."

Her blue eyes glared at him from under a frizz of bed-head, and she snapped, "So why are you telling me this at six in the morning?"

"I—I'm sorry!" he stammered, recoiling from both her adamant reply and her pajama-clad frame. Dear Goddess, why would _anyone_ go to bed in nothing but a baggy T-shirt in the middle of Winter? She raised an eyebrow at him as he averted his eyes, then sighing, she crossed her arms.

"Hey, I guess if my dad sent you, I can't be too mad. What are you doing, though, waking up at this hour? It's freaking early."

He ran his hand through his shaggy brown hair, sheepishly answering, "Uh, well…It's nerves, I guess."

"Nerves?" The girl leaned in the doorway, waiting as Cliff cleared his throat again.

"Well, yeah. There's—this, uh—job. And I'm starting full-time tomorrow."

"You got a job? Seriously?" Ann grinned, giving him a slap on the back. "That's great!"

The traveler rubbed his bruising skin gingerly, mentally making a note to never excite Ann again. Being a rugged outdoorsman was one thing; it was quite another to become a feisty girl's punching bag. "Er, th-thanks. I'm hoping I can pay off my debt in full after a season's wages."

"Where are you gonna work?"

"The Winery," he answered. "With Duke."

"And Manna?" Ann added tentatively.

Cliff shrugged. "I guess my sense of hearing is a small price to pay for a decent job."

This brought a smile to the redhead's lips, and she exclaimed, "Aha! I _knew_ there was a funny guy in you somewhere." Cliff's cheeks burned red at the comment, and as he began to mutter an apology Ann let out a sigh and held the traveler firmly by the shoulders. "It was a compliment, you idiot. You're always so nervous, Cliff—there's nothing wrong with loosening up and being yourself every once and awhile. I swear, you and your apologies…"

Her fingers unhooked themselves from his shirt, and Cliff found himself exhaling for the first time since her hands had grasped his shoulders. Had he forgotten to _breathe_? To his horror, Cliff realized that he _had_, and that made this awkward encounter with someone of the opposite gender even harder to bear.

"Cliff? Hello?"

He grunted in reply, shaking his head as she raised an eyebrow. "S-sorry…"

"What did I say about apologizing?!" Ann reprimanded him. To her disappointment, her loud voice only caused him to flinch noticeably and let out another stream of garbled sorries. She opened her mouth again to chide him, but then realizing how futile it would be, she sighed in defeat. "Hey, it's okay. How about you just go downstairs, I'll get back to bed, and you can raid the pantry for some breakfast and calm down?"

"Sounds good, I guess," he mumbled. Well, cold cereal wouldn't be _too_ bad; he'd been spoiled with Ann's homemade pancakes for long enough, anyway.

Though with maple syrup and just a hint of butter, those buttermilk pancakes were just about the best thing this side of—

"Cliff? You're drooling."

He snapped his disobedient mouth shut and inwardly cursed his bad timing. Why did everything stupid have to happen around Ann, anyway? The stuttering, the apologies, the random drooling—couldn't karma give a guy a break?

"I—I'll just go downstairs, then," he decided hurriedly, turning his face away in shame. Ann nodded slowly, pronouncing a long "o-kaaaaay" as she closed the door shut.

Except it didn't shut. The door, that is.

The waitress stared at the cracked door dumbly, and then muttering, "Of course the stupid door has to get stuck," she proceeded to close it once more. Then again. And again. With a stream of expletives, she slammed against the wooden thing over and over until her shoulder ached, shouting all the colorful words that she had picked up at an early age from drunks at the bar.

"Ann?! Ann, are you okay?" a voice called, the sound of anxious footsteps following close behind.

"The stupid door won't close!" the redhead screamed back.

On the other side, Cliff swiftly glanced at the door from top to bottom, then stared at the top once again. "It wasn't closed all the way before, either," the traveler explained. "There's this tiny plant—er, I _think_ it's a plant—hanging in the doorframe."

"There's a plant hanging in my what?" Ann exclaimed, opening the door. She scanned it just as Cliff had, her expression changing from curious to horrified in mere moments.

"That's it," Cliff nodded, pointing to the object of Ann's terror. "That…plant. I think it's a plant, anyway. I've never seen it before."

But Ann _had_. Oh, she'd seen it before—and more importantly, Anna and Basil had taught her what that 'plant' was for. "Goddess, no," she breathed, shaking her head. "Freaking—that's mistletoe, Cliff! Someone put freaking _mistletoe_ in my doorway!"

"Why would someone do that?" was his innocent reply.

Oh, Ann could think up plenty of sneaky underhand reasons someone—namely her father who _claimed_ to care only for her best interests—would stick that piece of forced holiday romance in the frame of her door. At the root of all those reasons was the fact that she _did_ not, and _would_ not, have a boyfriend. Which meant certain hypothetical grandchildren couldn't be born.

"And I actually called that man Daddy!" Ann glowered, doing nothing to alleviate Cliff's confusion. He stared at the mistletoe again, and suddenly a lightbulb clicked.

"Wait. Isn't this at the Supermarket?"

Ann stiffened. "N-no, of course it's not."

"I think it is, actually," Cliff interrupted, completely missing her desperate plea. "Karen was putting it up…said something about a holiday tradition. That is was for Rick, I think. And, wait, she said it was for something, like a kiss--?"

"Pfft, what does _Karen_ know?" she laughed nervously. "Kissing? Under a plant hanging from the ceiling? What a dumb tradition! Who would do something so incredibly--?" Cliff's eyes widened to the size of baseballs, and Ann's fake laughter soon turned into a set of desperate sobs. "Okay, okay, okay, so it _is_ for kissing, but _Goddess_, Cliff, it's such a stupid thing, and I—"

"Oh my Goddess, we're supposed to _kiss_," Cliff whispered, the tiniest tremor of fear creeping into his voice. "I'm…supposed to kiss you."

So much for ignorance. "Well, no one's here, and it's not like anyone will know if we ignore one little winter tradition," Ann cajoled him, putting her hands behind her back. "Seriously, Cliff, we can just—"

"Oh my Goddess," he breathed, oblivious. "Oh my _Goddess_."

Oh, what to do? What to do, what to do, what to _do_? Cliff paced the room desperately, Ann covering her face with her hands. The easy thing would be to do what Ann had just said—to pretend it wasn't there, to ignore it and just go on living their ordinary lives. But it was a tradition, damn it, a _tradition_! Despite the fact that it was six in the morning, neither had eaten breakfast, and Ann was wearing a large baggy T-shirt for jammies, they were both expected to fulfill this crazed holiday obligation.

All because of a stupid plant. Assuming mistletoe qualified as a plant.

"This is insane," Ann groaned, rubbing her temples. "Cliff, seriously, we don't need to do anything. Just go eat your breakfast."

"Mr. Carter always said that traditions were powerful tools of worship," the traveler replied, quivering. "That breaking a tradition…would anger the Harvest Goddess."

Ann stared at him. "Honestly, Cliff, I don't think the Goddess really gives a care about whether or not our lips lock."

"I—I know, but…still, it feels…weird," he answered lamely. Shrugging, he continued, "I'm not saying that I really want to, but—"

"But what? It _wouldn't_ feel weird for _us_ to kiss?" Ann exclaimed incredulously. "There's nothing weird about ignoring a plant, Cliff!" When that did nothing to faze him, panic began to set in, and Ann tried again, "I'm sure there's someone you'd rather be kissing than me anyway—some sweetheart from back home, am I right? What would she say if she saw?"

"…There is no girl."

Ann blinked. "Uh, there isn't?" So much for plan B.

"No, uh…I haven't even…er…kissed a girl before," Cliff stuttered. His cheeks had turned a rosy pink, and he averted Ann's stunned gaze.

"Are you freaking serious?! Not even a game of spin-the-bottle?" Ann exclaimed. "What kind of person gets away with something like that? How old are you, anyway—how is that freaking _possible_?" With one listless glance from those dark eyes, Ann immediately regretted what she'd just said. There he went again, babbling one of those signature apologies—how many had she heard in the past ten minutes, anyway? "Oh, stop it, Cliff—I know it's not your fault, alright?" she sighed. "But that makes this mistletoe thing even worse—I mean, do you really want _me_ to be the one to steal your first kiss?"

To her disbelief, he didn't answer.

Oh, Goddess….no, no, no, why was he looking at her like that?

Her pulse quickened. Her knees shook. Her eyes locked in on the traveler before her. No…this wasn't supposed to happen between them. That silent look—that expression of unspoken yearning and quiet trust—that look couldn't be directed at her. At Ann. At the girl who shouted and slammed doors at six in the morning, who slept in baggy T-shirts, who bragged about her independence, who wore yesterday's overalls and couldn't care less about the hastily-stitched patch near her knee.

Goddess knows that _Ann_ had never given anyone that look before. And until now, she'd never received it.

"Cliff…" Ann bit her lip, moving forward tentatively. Her blue eyes stared up searchingly at his chocolate orbs, and trying again, she spoke. "Listen, I don't…I don't know if…I feel comfortable doing this. I mean, Cliff—honestly, I just—it's so strange, and I—I feel weird. Doing that." A pause. "With you."

His expression unchanging, he brought his head into a small nod. Lips formed to speak words, and instead of the apology Ann had been bracing herself for, the traveler simply said, "I understand."

He turned his heel, and as he walked forward, Ann felt a protest die in her throat.

_Wait._

The small clunk of his boots on the wood echoed through the hallway, ending with a shattering ker-punk as he took his first step down the stairs.

_Wait._

His hands grasped the railing tightly, and Ann felt her own fall limply to her sides. Cliff's retreating form took another step, and another, and soon his head was all that could be seen from the doorway.

"Wait."

She crossed towards him, and as his head turned to gaze at her own, she stammered, "I, uh…just because it's weird…I don't think that means we shouldn't do it. You know. For tradition's sake."

"Tradition?" he repeated.

She nodded. "Yeah. It would suck if the Goddess decided to make a blizzard or something just because we were scared of a kiss."

Cliff thought for a moment, then walking towards her, he murmured, "You're…scared?"

The redhead shrugged, relenting, "Not really. Kinda. Okay, maybe just a bit." She drew a circle on the floor with her foot, looking away from his astonished expression. "I dunno, Cliff…I mean, it'd be weird, but…maybe it'll be a good weird." She laughed softly to herself. "I guess there's only one way to find out, huh?"

There's something strange about wanting something you swore you'd never have. One of Ann's earliest memories was that of parading in this very hallway, announcing that she decided she wanted to be a boy because they "had all the fun." When she'd been told that girls got to wear dresses and that when she was older she could marry a boy, the redhead had promptly replied that dresses were itchy and she would "never, ever, ever" get married or fall in love.

So…what exactly was she doing now?

Trembling, their bodies stepped closer, their lips inches away. Cliff blinked, then as the intensity of her gaze proved too much to bear, he closed his eyes and leaned forward. His hands placed themselves shakily on her shoulders, holding her loosely in his grip. She could shrug him off. Ann knew she could.

But for "tradition's sake," she didn't.

The tentative touch of his mouth against her lips barely lasted a second before Cliff pulled himself away, his expression wrought with fear instead of relief. A simple terrified peck, nothing more. Ann closed her eyes, closing her lips tight and bouncing her head back and forth in thought.

"Cliff?" she spoke finally.

A pause.

"…Did I do it wrong?" he whispered. "I'm sorry—I messed up, didn't I?"

She simply came forward, giving him a good long stare. Then, without warning, her hands reached for his shoulders, pulling his startled face close as her mouth connected with his own. A bit of tongue snaked its way into the previously innocent act, the contact lasting longer than the frightened Cliff could bear. And yet, his quivering body soon found a way to stabilize itself, relaxing ever so slightly in Ann's grip. It wasn't until he'd completely eased into her that Ann released him, a smile tugging at her mouth.

"Now _that_," Ann grinned, "is how you do a tradition."

And as Ann led the way downstairs to make them both some pancakes, a speechless Cliff decided he couldn't agree more.

---

Seriously, does mistletoe count as a plant? Are there mistletoe farms?! o.O


	4. Chapter 4: Caroling

**Note: **Out-of-season goodness! I know, I know, it's supposed to be on hiatus. I guess I lied. Anywho, this is a little different than the other three oneshots; it's not as holiday-oriented, but it still revolves around a festival. That, coincidentally, is supposed to happen in Fall. Ah, the beauty of fanfiction... :)

Dedicated to **Ekoaleko**, whose awesomeness is off the charts. Your potato humbly gives you Rick x Karen.

Caroling

"I can sing pretty good, you know."

She said it confidently, a fact, and leaned back on the snow-covered hills, grinning at her companion. His freckled face squinted at her among the snowflakes, sunlight glinting off the edge of his glasses.

"You?" he scoffed, his voice a squeak waiting to be oiled by puberty. "You _sing_?"

Well, of course she could sing; everyone could sing, for that matter. It was a question of whether or not someone sang _well_. Yet as Rick gazed at his best friend, he couldn't help smirking at the thought of her opening her mouth and letting something other than complaints and shouts out. _Karen_, singing? _Karen_, having the voice of an angel?

His lips drew themselves into a smug grin. "Yeah, right."

The girl sat up indignantly, her waterfall of honey-blonde hair now damp with snow and the occasional blade of winter grass. "You callin' me a _liar_, Rick?"

"Just saying that you can't sing, is all."

Her eyes narrowed into two furious green slits. "I can, too! And what would you know? You haven't even _heard_ me sing."

Rick shrugged, turning away. "Maybe once," he said finally, making a cautious lie.

In response, Karen's hand slammed into his back, sending him face-first into the snow. "Liar! You haven't, and you know it!"

Rick spat out a mouthful of the white stuff, standing up gingerly on gangly legs. "_Chicken legs_," Popuri had dubbed them, giggling behind his back. His mother had assured him he'd grow into them once the preteens were behind him, but at eleven years old, Rick only knew that right now they were a regular pain in the neck.

"I don't _need_ to hear you to know that you'd sound like nails on a chalkboard," he teased, adjusting his now-lopsided glasses. Karen fumed, her cheeks turning redder by the second, and she stomped angrily, her hands still in tight fists by her side.

"You wanna _bet_ on that?" she challenged, getting so close to his face that Rick could connect the dots between her pimples. The preteen years weren't going easy on his best friend, either, and Rick appreciated having a fellow sufferer.

Right now, though, Karen seemed pretty ticked, and when Karen got wound up, Rick knew better to set that bomb off.

And yet.

"I'll bet anything you want," he agreed, hands cockily placed on his hips.

_And yet_, he was an eleven-year-old boy, and they knew better than to stand down from a challenge. Especially one coming from a girl.

A grin tugged at Karen's lips; finally, she had found some benefit to her friend's doubt. Pursing her lips, she turned to Rick decidedly and announced, "I want Peep."

Immediately Rick's face fell. "P-peep?"

Peep, Rick's newly hatched chicken, was his pride and joy: the first animal he could call his very own. Karen had teased him about feeding and coddling his little chickadee every day, but she'd begged him every morning to let her hold the soft little bundle of feathers in her arms.

"Yep. If it turns out that I croak, I have to give you what you want, right? But if I'm a good singer--which I am--I'll take Peep."

Rick mulled this over; if he were to back down now, Karen would call him a chicken, but if he went through with it, he'd have to ask for something pretty incredible to bet against his Peep.

"If I win," he said slowly, "you have to…"

"What?"

It was then, as she stared at him, that Rick realized the perfect punishment for his best friend: the one thing that could rebuke her for daring to ask for his one and only Peep.

"If I win," Rick grinned, "you have to kiss me."

Her face twisted into a horrified scowl, and she gagged. "Ew! _Kiss_?"

"Chicken?" Rick challenged.

The scowl readjusted itself into a grin smugly mirroring his own. "It's a bet, then."

Their hands shook on it.

It was late one winter night when Rick and his family were shepherded to the church, waiting for the winter service to occur. "Your _girlfriend_ is singing in it," Popuri chirped, delighted to see the indignant expression flashing across her brother's face.

"She's not my girlfriend!" he retorted, sticking out his tongue. "Karen's just a girl."

"_Girl_ is half of _girlfriend_," Popuri sing-songed, and it took a great effort on Lillia's part to pry the two bickering siblings away from each other. Somehow, they settled themselves in the pews, and they managed to stay calm while Carter greeted them all and welcomed them to today's festivities. Rick squinted a bit; he could make out the faint shadow of Mary from behind the piano, and Ann and Elli were playing their wooden flutes nearby. It was a nice, enjoyable little tune, and Rick had heard it played the past eleven services of his life.

Then it happened.

It started out softly, this change to the melody. A new sound—one not from any instrument—echoed throughout the church, and soon another girl had come to the front, this one wielding a microphone instead of an instrument. From her lips came a clear, sweet melody unlike anything Rick had ever heard: not falsetto, like his sister's voice, but something deeper, with more substance and emotion.

When the festival ended, the audience exploded into applause, some adults even standing up and whistling with a standing ovation.

A lump rose in Rick's throat. Peep was about to get an early wake-up call.

"Hey! Rick!"

It was as this thought was flashing through his mind that a young girl ran towards him, her hair flowing behind her like a banner. "Did you hear me?" Karen insisted, grinning. "I'm alright, aren't I?"

He looked away and mumbled something like, "Yeah, you're alright."

His frown didn't convince her, and Karen put her hands on her hips. "Well, you don't need to look so down about it. Lots of people can sing, you know; it's no big deal that I can."

"But Peep," he whispered, and suddenly the lightbulb clicked in Karen's mind. "You're going to leave with Peep, and…"

She paused, and sitting herself down beside the poultry farmer, asked, "How would I feed Peep, anyway?"

"Buying her chicken feed," he mumbled, staring at the ground.

"Huh. And where would she stay?"

"A chicken coop, I guess."

Karen laughed. "How do I get one of those?"

"Build one?" Rick offered, shrugging.

"And if she becomes sick?"

"Buy her medicine."

Karen grinned, and crossed her arms.

"Rick, it sounds to me like I just won one very expensive bet."

He blinked, a little surprised; had she just said what he thought she had? "So you mean…?"

"You can keep Peep," Karen assured him, patting him on the back. "Geez, Rick, I wasn't really gonna keep the chick; you were just being so stubborn about me not being able to sing that I got _frustrated_!"

Karen? Frustrated? Rick stared at her from behind wide-rimmed glasses, trying to process the information. "I guess I just didn't…expect it, is all," he defended himself lamely.

Karen gave him a quizzical glance, then let her lips ease into a smile. "When you said I had to kiss you," she accused, "then did you mean it? Did you really think you'd win the bet?"

Did he? Thinking to himself, Rick couldn't quite decide whether he'd thought he would or not, and to be honest, the only reason he'd suggested the kiss was to gross Karen out. Heck, sixty percent of _him_ still wasn't sure whether or not girls had cooties; if it weren't for possibly losing Peep, he wouldn't have given Karen such a horrible dare.

"I wanted to freak you out," he admitted, grinning cheekily. "Cooties and all."

Her smile quickly turned itself upside-down. "Rick, you were tryin' to infect me with _cooties_?"

Rick nodded. "Yup."

A hand grabbed the collar of his shirt, and soon Karen had pulled him close, seething. "You know what I think about cooties, Rick?" she fumed, and suddenly her lips were on his. Rick kicked, he squirmed, but Karen's grip was unbreakable, and when she finally let go, he was gasping for air.

"I, for one," Karen grinned, "don't believe in cooties. What about you, Rick?"

He stared at her, blushing a deeper shade of red than he had thought possible, and let the tingling sensation in his mouth fade before replying.

"N-not really."

He'd been lying, of course. But whatever that strange feeling had been when Karen's mouth connected with his own, Rick knew it was nothing normal. But if that was what cooties were like…well…

Rick decided he liked them. He liked them very, very much.


	5. Chapter 5: Sugarcoated Blues

**Note: **The final installment! Wow, it feels so weird to get here…but I chose this one last for a reason. I'm very happy with all the fluff I (somehow) managed to write, and I'd like to thank those who read, reviewed, and faved this collection. Thank you so much!

This last installment is for **Kuruk**, my good friend. Kai x Popuri at your service.

Sugarcoated Blues

Popuri had about one hundred sixty seven reasons to love Winter. She loved the way snow covered the ground and made crunching sounds when she jumped knee-deep; she loved the feel of the wind in her cotton-candy hair as she sled down Mother's Hill; she loved the taste of peppermint and cookie-dough…maybe a little too much.

Yet one thing, and one thing only, ruined Winter, and that was the one thing that should have made it wonderful: the festivals.

And the fact that Summer was two seasons too late.

"Popuri, save some for the kids, would you?"

She made a face at her brother, and continued licking her candy cane to her heart's content. The stripes had come clean off by now, leaving a sharp white point behind. The sharper it got, the more reluctant Popuri was to bite it, curious to see just how pointed the sugar could become.

"You're going to get a stomachache."

"So what if I am?" she replied, turning. "Winter is the one time of the year that I can indulge myself without feeling greedy, you know."

Rick snorted. "Since when?"

"Since…now." She bit the candy cane with a sense of finality, letting the sugar blissfully enter her bloodstream. "You're one to talk, Rick. Mama still doesn't know what happened to the cookie dough earlier, and I _saw_ you licking it off your fingers."

He blanched at that, and Popuri grinned smugly. "Fine, go and get yourself diabetic," Rick groaned. "See if I care."

"Oh, you know you love me," she giggled. "Even if I got myself horribly obese and messed up my blood sugar, you know you'd still love me." She stood up, and gave her brother a hug on tippy-toe; a little stunned, he just patted her on the back uncomfortably. "You'd love me, right?"

"I'd think you were a little crazy, but I'd still love you."

Satisfied, Popuri pulled away, and reached for another holiday goody—this time, a marshmallow snowman. "Mmph, so, where are you taking her?" she mumbled; Rick had, incredibly, been living long enough with her to translate her mouthful of gibberish.

"Mother's Hill," he grinned. "Karen and I had our first date there, you know."

"You mean festival?"

"Well, it's the same thing, right?"

She swallowed the marshmallow, and glowered at him. "Well, no, it's not. I mean, do _all_ dates have to happen the same day every year in the same exact place? That's just weird."

Rick blinked. "Uh—"

"Really, can't someone wake up one day and think, _Oh, I think I'll go on a date today_, or does everything have to be structured just so? Someone could have their own Starry Night Festival in the middle of Summer if they wanted to, right?"

"I guess, but—"

"So festivals aren't really festivals at all! They're just planned dates. Planned dates that everyone has every year, so that single people feel left out." She took a determined bite of gingerbread. "I think it's mean and kind of unromantic to have everything planned like that. You know?"

This, Rick thought with a sigh, was one of those _rhetorical_ questions, the kind where no matter what answer you give, you're completely and totally wrong, and apparently fail at life.

So obviously it was divine intervention when the door opened, and Karen arrived to whisk him away to his romantic retreat. Popuri waved them good-bye, her mouth still full of cookies, and frowned when the door shut behind them.

Now what?

Last year, Popuri hadn't been so unfortunate during festival days. Mary and Ann had been _single_ then, and festival days qualified as slumber-party nights and excuses to go out on the town to catch the latest movie. They'd distracted her, keeping her mind off of the traveler she dreamt of and longed to cuddle up with on cold winter nights.

This year, Ann had decided she thought the shy new traveler was cute. And this year, Gray—stupid, stupid Gray—had _finally_ realized that if he asked Mary out, she'd say yes.

Which left Popuri alone, at home, munching on sugary treats.

On the other hand, she'd had a boyfriend for a good three years now. The only other girl whose relationship had outlasted that was Karen, and she'd known Rick since they were in diapers, so Popuri hardly thought that counted. Plus, it was her _brother_. Ew.

Elli and the doctor had sort-of, kind-of, implied they were dating last year, though neither one of them admitted to actually being boyfriend and girlfriend until this season. They'd still gone to festivals, though, so Popuri couldn't rely on the nurse to ease her boredom.

Besides, Elli would get onto her about all this candy. After all, Stu got lectured for that all the time.

"Popuri? What are you doing down here?" A soft voice snapped Popuri out of her sulky reverie, and soon Lillia had taken the seat across from her, smiling. "I'm a little surprised to see you all by yourself," she commented. "Wasn't tonight movie night?"

_Was_ being the key word. "Gray asked Mary out," Popuri muttered.

"Oh, he did?" Lillia beamed. "Well, it certainly took him long enough! That's splendid. So, where is Ann, then?"

"She asked Cliff out."

"You mean Cliff asked—"

"No, Mama, _she_ asked Cliff out." Popuri sighed and, cookie gone, began to nibble on some fruitcake despite herself; unfortunately, her stash of goodies had dwindled. "So, I'm kind of bored."

Lillia smiled, seeing her daughter's head droop the same way it would when she lost a toy as a toddler or complained that it wasn't _fair_ that Rick got to stay up later than her at night. "Oh, dear, festival days can be hard. I know. Sometimes, I see Jeff and Sasha, and just think, _Why aren't you spending the festivals with your husband, when he's right here? _I get so frustrated."

"But don't they come play Poker here with you on festival nights?"

Her mother smiled, but didn't deny it. Instead, she looked at her daughter to say, "Darling, don't you think you've had enough sugar for one day?"

And unable to garner sympathy, Popuri left.

To be fair, Popuri figured she'd actually _like_ the festivals if Kai were there. She should technically be really happy with herself; not many long-distance relationships lasted as long as hers and Kai's had. He wrote her letters, sent her presents, and never forgot about her for a moment when he was in town. "How is it the most beautiful girl in Mineral Town is _my_ girlfriend?" he'd laugh, shaking his head. "I don't deserve you, Poppy."

Poppy wouldn't mind a festival every once and a while, but eh. The price of love.

She shuffled her feet, walking across the beach in a bored daze. She stuck her tongue at the empty Snack Shack (stupid Winter, making it closed) and kicked at the beach, watching the grains of sand fly into the air. The thing that really, really stunk was that if Kai were in town, he would have gone all-out for every festival. Popuri knew that without any doubt; every time he and her were alone together, it wasn't just an ordinary "I-love-you, you're-so-wonderful." He loved to surprise her, to sweep her off her feet, to make her feel special in a way no one else would.

But, stupidly, she had to spend the festival days alone, and listen to the other girls chatter about their evenings the next day, instead of bragging herself. Because, Popuri thought to herself, any date with Kai would _so_ trump anything the other girls had. Besides, when they were together, everything was just like...like...

Magic.

"Um, Popuri?"

Suddenly Popuri realized Harris had spoken, and she turned to him in confusion. "What is it?" she asked, scrutinizing him. He wasn't asking her to spend the festival with him, _was_ he? Harris was nice and all, but—Popuri had to face it—he was _way_ too old for her. Plus, wasn't he still with Aja long-distance? Either way, Popuri cringed at the idea.

The policeman shifted back and forth impatiently. "Zack said you never got your package."

She blinked. "Package?"

She barely understood him as he started explaining something about Zack being late or whatever; only one person sent her presents, and that one person was Kai. Rushing a "thank you," she dashed off to Zack and Won's, shouting at the door that she had come for her gift. What it was didn't matter. Who sent it meant everything.

It wasn't wrapped, but tied with a silky red bow that Popuri eagerly tore away as she held the box close. Squatted on the dock, she tossed the packing peanuts behind into the sand (she'd clean it later; this was kinda important) and soon found an envelope perched on top of all the packaging materials.

_Happy holidays, Poppy!_

…_Okay, so for all I know, this is late, but here's hoping you got it on time! Gah, this long-distance thing can be a pain, huh? I'd much rather start this letter off with a hug, but what can you do? Anyway, I'm over in the Virgin Islands right now, and—believe it or not—I'm swimming on the beach everyday. What a Winter Wonderland, right? Sand and seafoam. Go figure._

_But it's days like these when I wish I wasn't surrounded by a bunch of suntanned tourists. I'd much rather be chasing you in the waves, and laughing when a wave crashes overhead and knocks us to the ground; I want to hear you exclaim when you find a pretty __seashell and show it to me; I want, frankly, for you to be here with me. And honestly? Knowing that you're celebrating a really cool village holiday is making me kind of jealous. _(Popuri couldn't help but giggle at that—he had _nothing_ to be jealous of.)_ Then there's those awesome cookies and cakes your mom makes; what I wouldn't give for one right now! I bet you're stuffing your face full, huh? _(Popuri tried to let out an indignant "hmph!" but she found herself smiling; he knew her far too well.)

_So there's supposed to be a full moon tonight. Er, again assuming you got this on time. That would be bad. I'd owe you a free snowcone. And a piggyback ride...but nah, I promised May she'd go next. Haha. Anyway, I'm going to be on the beach all the way over on the other side of the world, watching the moon and stars. And Poppy, if you look up at the night sky, we'll be gazing at the same beautiful lights._

_There's no one I'd rather spend this holiday with than you, my love. And…and maybe, after this summer, we won't have to. I can't stand being apart from you, Poppy. I never could. This summer, I'm going to make a choice…and it'll be up to you to choose yours._

_But I love you, Poppy. So, so much. Wish upon a star for me, alright?_

_Forever yours,_

_Kai._

The paper shook in her hands, her breath caught in her throat. No…could it be? Popuri shook her head, pink curls bouncing, and brought her hand to her mouth, the other pawing through the package. No, he couldn't have—he didn't, this—!

A soft touch arrested her attention. Suddenly her movements had slowed, fingers tracing the outline of this beautiful, breathtaking gift as a single color caught her eye: a deep ocean blue. Popuri couldn't help it; she gasped. Enshrined in her grasp laid a long, slender feather: elegant and proud. Tied to it was a simple note:

_If you want my heart, it's yours. You decide._

She couldn't breathe, but her heart kept pounding against her chest, threatening to burst from the cage of her body. Good Goddess. Good _Goddess_. Her body trembled, legs shaking beneath her as she fought to stand up. Here she'd been sulking all day, stuffing her face full, when this…this…oh, _Goddess_. The dome of sky above her had already blackened, naught but swirling mass of darkness lit by only a full and shining moon.

A proposal. A _proposal_. After so many long, bittersweet summers, Kai had done the one thing Rick had sworn he never would. Something fluttered within her—butterflies, perhaps?—and as the clouds parted from the sky, so did her thoughts are she sorted them one from another in this tangling mess of confusion.

She'd have to leave, of course. Kai couldn't stay still, not in this town. Ricky wouldn't like that, though; he obviously didn't want her to leave Mama behind. Yet hadn't her mother always told her she could do anything she set her mind to? Hadn't she always been the one to take Popuri in her arms and say her daughter was destined to do more than sit and wait in this village?

It hadn't been the way she'd always planned. It hadn't been on one knee, there hadn't been a ring, and Popuri didn't get to pepper his face with kisses as she knew she would have. Yet as Popuri started towards the edge of the dock, she clutched the feather close to her heart and let the wind grab hold of the hem of her gown and sweep it like a train behind her. She sighed—a long, satisfied sigh—and let her ruby eyes search the sky for any glimmer of light. Sure enough, a single star lit the night like a sparkling diamond, and voice choked with happiness, Popuri whispered, "I do. I do love you, Kai. I do."

Her fingers touched her lips, and smiling brighter than the moon above, she blew a kiss onto the sea breezes, her answer carried along with the voice of the sea.

"I love you, Kai. I'll be your bride."

And upon a foreign shore, a young traveler smiled, receiving so much more than his wish upon a star.

* * *

With this, the collection ends. But the title to this last installment seems so superfluous now…see, I'd meant to make the gift a box of Hershey's kisses (that magically didn't melt, haha) at first, then it turned into a blue feather. And I wanted to end this sap-fest with something a bit more subtle, and Popuri seemed like a perfect foil for that.

Anyway, thank you very much for reading my greatly delayed collection to its full completion, and here's wishing you happy holidays in…June! (I can't even say 'Christmas in July'…darn. That's kinda sad.)

Happy writing!

--Scarlet


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